No change of weather varied the journey,
after it had hardened into a sullen frost. In a sombre-yellow sky, they
saw the Alpine ranges; and they saw enough of snow on nearer and much
lower hill-tops and hill-sides, to sully, by contrast, the purity of
lake, torrent, and waterfall, and make the villages look discoloured and
dirty. But no snow fell, nor was there any snow-drift on the road. The
stalking along the valley of more or less of white mist, changing on
their hair and dress into icicles, was the only variety between them and
the gloomy sky. And still by day, and still by night, the wheels. And
still they rolled, in the hearing of one of them, to the burden, altered
from the burden of the Rhine: "The time is gone for robbing him alive,
and I must murder him."
They came, at length, to the poor little town of Brieg, at the foot of
the Simplon. They came there after dark, but yet could see how dwarfed
men's works and men became with the immense mountains towering over them.
Here they must lie for the night; and here was warmth of fire, and lamp,
and dinner, and wine, and after-conference resounding, with guides and
drivers. No human creature had come across the Pass for four days. The
snow above the snow-line was too soft for wheeled carriage, and not hard
enough for sledge. There was snow in the sky. There had been snow in
the sky for days past, and the marvel was that it had not fallen, and the
certainty was that it must fall.
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